


Late Night Performance

by asphyxeno



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Book Spoilers, Gen, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphyxeno/pseuds/asphyxeno
Summary: It was late into the night when Geralt awoke. Because of this, he was surprised to find he wasn't the only one awake.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Late Night Performance

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during Baptism of Fire, before they encounter Zoltan, but after Milva joins Geralt and Dandelion.
> 
> I wanted to explore their nights together while traveling through hellish landscapes of war. Involves book spoilers.

It was late into the night when Geralt awoke. Because of this, he was surprised to find he wasn't the only one awake.

"Did I disturb you?"

"Not at all."

Geralt came to sit beside Dandelion at the fire, only charred wood remained in the pit, still glowing and casting faint light. He didn't know if it was enough for Dandelion to see his lute. He suspected that with as much practice as the bard had, sight wasn't inherently necessary. Dandelion's quiet strumming was the only confirmation he needed.

Dandelion didn't ask more of Geralt, which was disconcerting to say the least, for someone so talkative. The past few nights, he'd been the last one to bed, choosing to 'take inspiration from the dying embers' rather than retire early. Too absorbed with his own concerns, Geralt hadn't realized before just how little sleep Dandelion was getting.

"It will be dawn in a few hours." Geralt said, observing the coals. "You should rest."

Dandelion smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. It was odd to see on a man that, normally, could so easily spread mirth. "Yesterday you told me I should eat," he said calmly, "Only for me to throw it up two hours later when we passed that logging camp. Or what was left of it after... No, I think this method of rest is the only thing that shall grant me any peace tonight." He plucked the chords of his lute, testing that they were in tune. They were, but he continued to adjust the knobs anyway. In and out of tune, a reflection of how he'd felt the past few days.

Fair enough. After all, Geralt was suffering from the same affliction. They were why he'd woken up, nightmares. Nightmares, if he could call them that, about Ciri and a gang of bandits; murderers without restraint. Just the thought that his dreams might be visions of reality terrified him. He shook his head to banish the memory of Ciri cutting a man down in cold blood. He didn't want to dwell on it.

Dandelion hummed a melody he'd been playing each night, and tonight was no different.

"Is that one of yours?" Geralt asked, feeling talkative. So long as it wasn't about dreams, he'd take any chance for a distraction. Even in the form of Dandelion's ramblings.

Dandelion was fortunately forthcoming. No matter the mood, he was unable to resist discussing his craft. "An adaptation," he said. "I'm uninspired, at the moment. The things we've seen... The horrors of war... The gruesome acts intelligent species are capable of performing... These hardly invoke a spark of creativity for me. So I find myself turning to other ballads, translated and adopted into my own style to give them a chance in the spotlight, piggybacking off my own fame."

"Like the elven song you sang for the dryads?"

Dandelion hummed his affirmation. "Though Elaine Ettariel was perhaps too light of a subject. I aim to pursue something melancholic, to match the mood of the setting. I've made some adjustments here and there, as the song is originally performed by a woman, and not on a lute. I'd even call my changes an improvement, if you were to ask me."

"I am asking you."

"So you are." Dandelion smiled again. Again, it didn't reach his eyes. "Would you like to hear it? Perhaps you would recognize it."

"By all means, play."

Dandelion tested a few chords before he began proper. He waited, allowing anticipation to build. Then he eased into the song's introduction, plucking at strings according to the arrangement he'd adapted. The melody was haunting and filled the whole of the clearing they'd chosen for camp. The notes sprang to life, bringing color with them even in the dark.

And then he sang.

_I've sung of gods, I've sung of heroes,  
Of the clang of blades, of bloody battles;  
As long as my falcon was with me  
I had his cry for a prayer._

_But it's been a year now since he flew away -  
He's been carried away by a bewitched blizzard.  
A snowstorm from distant lands  
Has stolen my dear friend._

Once more, Geralt realized he'd been too caught up with himself to notice before - he hadn't heard Dandelion actually sing since the dryads. Sure, he'd heard the faint sound of his lute these past few evenings, but he'd not uttered a word to accompany them. Usually when they traveled, there was constant music, songs made up about everything. And yet here he was, hearing Dandelion's voice again, feeling shame that he'd not noticed the change in his friend sooner. Indeed, they had seen too much these past few days.

_Since then I haven't been myself,  
And the seagulls cry, cry in the sky;  
I can only make out  
The bitterwort-colored eyes in the fog_

_Oh, if only I could see with the eyes of a falcon,  
Soar up on falcon's wings  
In that foreign falcon land,  
And not in my sleep, but somewhere near._

As Dandelion's fingers continued to dance across the strings, Geralt reflected on the lyrics, which reminded him of his current focus and goal: Ciri. Retrieving Ciri from Nilfgaard, if that was indeed where she truly was. The dreams he'd been having - prophetic, though he'd deny it otherwise - suggested she may be elsewhere. But he had nowhere else to turn, and he couldn't tolerate remaining in place. And so, despite the ravages of war, he headed south. He only wished that Dandelion hadn't insisted on accompanying him. He wished even more that he wasn't so grateful for the company.

The song then went on, escalating in its fever, the tune revolving around and dissipating up into the sky as it was filled with yet more and more lyrics.

_My joy, every night, I dreamed of you,  
But you are dressed in a cloak of sorrow.  
I will, of course, sing again before leaving,  
But I will be gone, I will be gone from your abode,  
With the first ray of dawn._

_Wherever do your dreams wander, princess-_

The music stopped abruptly, the melody severed, as Dandelion halted the reverberations of the strings with his palm. " _Every_ time." He grated out the words and tutted through his teeth.

"Something wrong?" Geralt prompted, alarmed at the sudden stop. Dandelion didn't stop playing, even when he made mistakes, though Geralt hadn't heard one.

"'Princess'," the poet muttered, obviously frustrated. Then his volume escalated, and Geralt wished he hadn't asked. "The translation. Every time, no matter what, it doesn't fit! Nothing fits!"

"Dandelion, quietly. You'll wake Milva. What doesn't fit?"

"The word princess!" Dandelion reiterated, louder, rather than quieter. "Don't you understand? The cadence of that word isn't appropriate with this rhythm."

"Does that matter?"

Dandelion leveled him with a withering look. Clearly, it mattered.

"What's going on?"

Geralt's attempt to quiet Dandelion hadn't worked. A sleepy looking Milva sat up in her bedroll, rubbing an eye as she looked at them both. Dandelion had stood up during his tirade, his arms raised to the heavens as if the gods might answer his search for a replacement word. Geralt was attempting to placate him, lest the troubadour wake the whole forest in his frustration. He was failing.

"Ah," said Milva knowingly. "Now I finally understand."

In a huff, Dandelion sat back down, too tired to argue with both a witcher and an archer at once. "Yes," he confirmed, pulling his lute back in his lap, an excuse to vent without making further noise.

"He sang the song for you before?" Geralt asked, surprised. He had been under the impression that Dandelion hadn't sung the song, or anything, since he'd met Milva. Perhaps he'd been wrong?

"No, I've only heard some of the melody at night," said Milva, dispersing Geralt's doubts, though not his worries. "But he kept muttering about princesses and birds. I thought he meant Ciri. Now I see he means the song."

The two looked over at the bard. Dandelion was grumbling to himself, ignoring them both with his eyes closed, as he went through a list of potentially suitable words.

Discreetly, Milva beckoned Geralt over to her, and he obeyed. He crouched by the, who lowered her voice so the troubled troubadour wouldn't hear them. "He really needs to sleep," she said. "Every night he only retires once the fire's completely out, when he has no more choice but to do so."

"Does his music bother you? I could knock him out."

Milva snorted, though she knew Geralt was completely serious. "It's not me that's bothered. Actually, it's only ever done the opposite. The music is quite soothing, and I'd sorely miss its absence. I wouldn't sleep as well without it. Don't tell him I said that."

"Don't tell me you said what?" Dandelion asked, peering over at them with suspicion.

"That your music is waking everyone up," answered Geralt. "You need to go to bed earlier."

Dandelion scoffed. "Not likely," he said, and turned back to his songwriting.

"I think he's afraid to go to sleep," admitted Geralt quietly.

Milva folded her arms. "Nightmares, you think?"

"Can't say I don't have them, too."

"The same with me, as well," nodded Milva. "These past few days have forced us all to face the uglier side of war, but for a bard..."

"I've seen ugliness before." Again, Dandelion had joined their conversation. "It's not kind to speak about others while their back is turned."

Geralt and Milva looked sheepish. "We can't have you falling asleep on your horse," said Geralt. A practical cover for true concern.

"If I can barely sleep when lying down, what makes you think I'll be able to, upright in a saddle?" Dandelion's voice contained defensive heat, though it blazed about as hot as their slowly dying fire. He turned his gaze upon those fading embers. "Too many people are killed in their sleep. If we were attacked, I'd be defenseless. Each day we face danger, and I am harshly reminded of this fact, that I serve to be more of a burden to you than anything else. You're right that I'm afraid."

Geralt felt a pang in his chest at the open admittance, and he understood that Dandelion had heard every word of their conversation. "Dandelion..."

The poet cut him off. "But aren't you, too? Both of you? I know that you are, don't deny it." He glanced between them. "And if I find that the one thing I can do for you both is to ease your rest with my music, then, damn it, I'm going to do it. I know much about the influence music plays on the mind. I know that it is easier to sleep with the quiet chords of a gentle song drifting you to bed."

It was Milva who broke the heavy silence that hung in the air after Dandelion's explanation. "You've been staying up, playing music every night so that we can rest easier?" she asked.

"You said so yourself, my music is soothing."

"Dandelion," Geralt sighed fondly. "You're an idiot."

"So I have been told," confirmed the bard. A pause, then with widened eyes, he proclaimed, "Oh, yes, I truly am an idiot, not to have seen this before! Zireael!"

Geralt and Milva looked at him in stunned silence.

"Zireael! Zireael!" Dandelion reiterated. "The replacement word I've been seeking, instead of princess."

"Perhaps you _have_ been awake too long," said Geralt. "Zireael means swallow, not princess."

"It's the Elder version of Cirilla, yes? Ciri is a princess, correct?" Dandelion snapped. "And a swallow is a bird. The song's theme follows birds..." He hastened to sit at the fire again, adjusting his lute. "Just- You don't have to listen to the full song, but the ending, I insist."

And Milva and Geralt, as they had done the past few nights, listened to Dandelion play.

_Wherever do your dreams wander, zireael,  
How long do ancient grasses need to wait for spring...  
The only thing left is to repeat a few words, such a trifle -  
"Wake up, zireael, don your plumage."_

_No one knows better than I do  
That everything happened not to me, not to you.  
Your grace wounds the heart,  
Like an arrow over a bow-string._

_You're paying for a song with a full moon  
Like others would pay in silver coins.  
I would give everything to be with you,  
But, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps  
You do not even exist in this world..._

_Zireael..._

The song lingered in the air even after the music faded. It felt as thought the whole forest had quieted to hear Dandelion perform, and in the silence reigned the calm respect that accompanied it. It felt somehow inappropriate to break it with applause, if either Geralt or Milva had been inclined to do so.

"The song is about Ciri?" Milva asked, at last.

"Of course not," explained Dandelion calmly. "I am not the writer, merely a translator, though you may interpret it however you wish. This song was written a long time ago, before you or I or Ciri were born." He shivered. Despite being summer, nights were shockingly cold in the forest, and the fire had long since stopped throwing off heat. "Damn this cold. My fingers... I could play more if not for the stiffness the cold brings."

Geralt tugged the poet closer, towards himself and Milva. "Come here. For warmth. It will be dawn soon. We ought to take what sleep we can still get."

This time, Dandelion didn't protest Geralt's suggestion. He had to stifle a yawn as he set his lute aside. "Very well," he agreed. "But before that... Did my music help? In any way?"

Geralt placed himself between Milva and Dandelion. He gathered Dandelion in his arms, knowing he'd need the attention the most just now. "If I say no, will you stop staying up late to play it?"

"No."

Behind him, Geralt felt rather than heard Milva laugh. He sighed, and wondered not for the last time if maybe he'd be better off traveling alone. But he knew, undoubtedly, that wasn't, and would never be, the case. "Then yes, Dandelion," he said finally, accepting his fate as he settled in for sleep. "It did help."

And for the first time since he'd left Brokilon Forest, Geralt found he was able to sleep undisturbed.

**Author's Note:**

> The featured song Dandelion performs is "Korolevna" by Melnitsa.
> 
> I told myself I wasn't going to write any fic until I finished the books and games but...  
> I can have little a fanfic... as a treat.


End file.
